Proximity
by LaDanaid
Summary: Trace the path of House and Cameron's relationship as they relive some old wounds and try to survive and heal them. Are they close enough to survive? FIN
1. First Dance

Title: **Proximity** - in three parts:  
_1: __First Dance__  
2: __Cleaning Day__  
3: __Salt Water and Wounds_

Author: LaDanaid (sgr11)  
Rating: a hard R, NC-17 scattered here and there  
Beta: **gabesaunt** and **lynettinspaghet** - Very many thanks to both who looked at this last minute! And big hugs to **gabesaunt** who helped me through my insanity! xo She deserves some cookies!  
Summary: Trace the path of House and Cameron's relationship as they relive some old wounds and try to survive and heal from them. Are they close enough to survive?  
Written For: **enchantedapril**  
Assignment number: #23 / theme Scars (House/Cameron Fic Challenge)

Assignment:  
Three things **enchantedapril** wanted to see in her story: Can be as specific or as general as you want.  
1.House/Cameron in a somewhat established relationship (and smut would be nice)  
2.some angst  
3.happy ending (not sappy happy, but you know what I mean)

Three things she doesn't want anywhere near her story:  
1.OOC anyone  
2.Pregnant!Cam  
3.Sappiness... some nice 'awww' moments are nice, but nothing hugely fluffy... again, I think you all know what I mean.

Extra notes: Is in a 'You' POV.

**PROXIMITY**

_First Dance_

Most mornings, you feel the sunlight creeping up the blinds, climbing higher and higher into the room and up the walls like magical vines. Soon it starts reflecting off the mirror and alerting you that the alarm will start going off soon. Most mornings, you are quick and quiet out of bed without pushing the snooze-button and you try your best not to wake your lover, who is not a morning person.

This morning is different. It is cloudy, overcast and you are tired. Out of habit, you are slightly awake, but you just want to turn back over into the warmth of the bed and pull the blankets over your head, and bake like a morning croissant for a few more hours. You are already tempted to start pushing the snooze button a few times because you so exhausted, but you know that your bedfellow will elbow you to turn it off and to get your ass out of bed and off to work, and then he can sleep an extra hour.

You, usually noted as the young, naive, beautiful, sensitive, Dr. Allison Cameron, have been seeing the older, misanthropic, grumpy Dr. Gregory House for almost a year. People would be shocked if they knew, well, that's what he keeps telling you. You are getting so tired of "keeping up appearances," you just don't care anymore, you actually wouldn't mind if the **whole** hospital found out and it was just done and over with.

Part of your morning ritual of you getting up on time is to confuse your co-workers. You arrive an hour earlier than House, and people have never seen you arriving or leaving together. The only person aware of your relationship is Wilson. And to be honest with you, all this lying is tiring you out. You're having problems keeping track of all the lies you have told about where you have been and what you have been up to, it's really starting to wear you out, and lying just doesn't suit your nature. You have never been good at it.

As you stand in the hot shower, enjoying the steam, you recollect that no one could argue that he treats you any different at work since you have been sleeping together. He's equally as hard on you if not harder. Maybe you should start considering a position somewhere else, and get out from underneath this? (But could either of you handle that?) And would he ever come forth and be honest about your relationship? You would never ask him to be someone he's not and you can't force him to do anything. You are honest to yourself about who is he, and that's part of what makes this relationship work.

You feel like you are pondering the world in the morning steam, when the bathroom door bangs open, and House tells you you've been in there a half an hour and could you save him some hot water?

And some people wondered what his bedside manner was like at home . . .

**&**

It is misting outside. It is the most annoying precipitation to drive in, where it's not really raining hard enough to use your wipers, but to see you have to use them. The fog and the mist, however, are similar to your thoughts in your brain and the feelings in your heart, heavy and clouded. You think back and recollect how you and House started spending time together. The first non-date date that was perfect: Monster Trucks, one of the best times you ever had, one of the first inklings that you both saw something underneath the surface of each other. Of course, he had to be difficult and misjudge you, and the first actual date (well, you kind of bribed him) you had gone on together went horribly, where he basically said you were a one-person rescue-person-shelter; always looking for people to fix, never really loving. He was really wrong. He spent the next few months pretty much apologizing to you and trying to woo you.

He never had to woo you. He pretty much had you the first moment you shook your small hand in his big warm one and said "Welcome to Princeton." His intense eyes cut right through you down to the bottom of your stomach. At that moment, you would not have minded if he had pushed everything off his desk and fucked you madly. And you didn't know a thing about him - was he married? Involved? Gay? Nice? You had no clue. All you knew was that your attachment was instinctual and animalistic. You learned all his other fine attributes later.

He started showing up at your apartment, knowing you were angry at him regarding the horrible date. He feigned excuses like his cable was out and you have satellite television, so he could watch some regionalized sporting events. His visits became frequent. You didn't talk to him much, you basically ignored him, going about your apartment, cleaning, cooking, reading a book. Once in a while, you would take pity on him and feed him a plate of what you made for dinner.

You didn't really appreciate his games, but at the same time, you knew he was _trying_ and this was his way. Simultaneously, his physical proximity was killing you. Because as much as you could shut out his words, the distance of his body heat to yours, his scent to your nose, the intensity of his eyes, these were the things that made your body go into melt down mode.

His visits increased. Sometimes Saturday, sometimes Sunday, sometimes both days. You wondered if he told Wilson about his silent visits to your apartment and if he did, what did he say. You pretend that you don't care that he's there, that he doesn't bother you. You try to pretend that you don't feel his presence taking over your space, heating your body, flushing your cheeks. You just keep doing your best to imagine he's not there, that he's just an illusion.

You can no longer sit on your couch. One night, after he leaves, you're lying on the sofa reading a book when suddenly you realize you are aroused. Your body is having an instinctual response and your nipples are hardening, your breathing is becoming hitched. You turn your head to rub your face against the pillow, when it hits you. The sofa smells like him. You can't help it, but you spend the next hour masturbating into a back arching, mind-blowing orgasm, just over his smell. You go to work the next day with a glow in your cheeks that no one has seen on you in quite a while.

After this, you know this can't continue the way it has been going.

**&**

The following weekend, you decide to throw him off. You leave a note on your door inviting him to brunch if he shows up at your apartment.

You sit with the sun streaming onto your face. You know that you will get little freckles across your nose. You have only ordered coffee so far, and you are sure other Sunday patrons are annoyed at you for taking up a table, but frankly you don't give a damn. You are enjoying the sun and the crisp, clear air. You are reading the paper, when suddenly the handle of a cane grabs the crease and pulls the paper down.

"What the hell is this?" House demands, holding the taped up note in his hand.

An offer for brunch, you explain with a smile, folding the paper and putting it down.

"Baseball is on today."

Tough.

He tilts his head and looks at you, jamming the note in his pocket. You extend your hand toward a chair. He pulls it out and sinks himself into it.

So he came?

"Well, I do eat." He opens the menu. "Is this place any good?"

You smirk at him and tell him, which on the odd occasion when you used to go out to brunch on Sundays, uhem, you thought so.

"Well, why didn't you say you so?"

You just did.

After ordering eggs and bacon and french toast and more coffee, you decide you would slice through the silence like a knife through the butter melting in the sun and ask him why has he taken to intruding himself upon your life?

House did not seem at all surprised by your question, as if he had been waiting for it. "Have I intruded?"

Doesn't he think?

He shrugged.

You point out to him that he has made some ridiculous excuses to come over to your apartment every weekend for weeks.

"Well, you always seem to intrude into my life always asking questions about my parents, showing up unannounced, and I've never complained." He responds.

You hold your sigh. He? Who clearly has no personal life?

He smiles at you. "Now, I've learned that you don't either."

You pull a House, and tell him you don't know if you really want to share.

"And in all these weeks, you've never asked me any questions, you have barely said one word to me. Why now?"

You tell him you want him out of your apartment. You play with the food on your plate while you lie to him. You need to start some reactions otherwise you'll be masturbating on your sofa forever.

"I don't think that's the reason."

You know his eyes are trying to drill into your skull to try to force some response and to try to understand what is going on in your mind. You refuse to lift your head, and when you do, you look above and beyond his shoulder focusing on something else. You shrug. You ask him if he's got some silly bet going with Wilson or something regarding you.

"I don't get you," he started. "You talk more to me at work, reveal more to me at work . . . "

His point?

"So, why aren't you talking to me now?"

You haven't been?

"You're being intentionally dense."

You are enjoying using some of his own tactics and words against him.

You ask him if there is a reason you should talk to him now. You lean back in the chair and dare to look into his eyes. When you do, see you a fleeting unfamiliar look.

"No," he shrugged, "I was just wondering."

He was very nonchalant. You smiled inwardly to yourself. You both continued eating brunch and talking. You look at the newspaper and talk about work. These were comfort level items. You try to keep your knees from brushing up against his long legs underneath the table. That was hard for you. Other than that, it was a nice day.

That began your days and evenings out and getting to know each other, your entanglement with each other and into each other's worlds. It starts less dangerously than you thought it would. What would life be without the occasional scratch, bandage, scar and lesson?

**&**

You both begin slowly, like hurt, kicked dogs trying to find comfort in new homes with new owners, tentative and nervous. Eyes always searching furiously for meaning, reassurance and security. He is scared of you, your sensitivity, your age, that you work for him, that you'll leave him, that you'll hurt him. He has a catalog of hurts written across his flesh that he slowly starts to display to you. You are scared that he'll never let you in, that you'll never get close enough, that he'll never trust you, that you'll lose him, because you're tired of losing people. And even worse, that you are falling in love.

The desire between the two of you is obvious. But because of your two lists of hurts, you move at a snail's pace, gaining inches and small glints of trust. A brush of his hand on yours is a touch filled with a thousand words that only you and he understand, but the common observer would never catch. After spending time with him, you always feel like you have run a marathon because your heart is racing for hours. He's still nervous about kissing you, he thinks you might break. You're hoping that your snarky joking with him will let him know that you are stronger than you look.

After a long night of laughter, he is walking you to your door. He is relaxed enough to not realize that he leans in for a precious, tasty wet kiss. The kiss grows deeper and hungrier, and when he realizes this, he pulls away. You are both slightly out of breath. You smile to him, your arms around his neck, to encourage him on. Instead, he buries his head in your neck and kisses you wetly on your collar bone, hugging you tightly. You inhale his scent, want to wrap your legs around him and never let him go.

Your desire for him is becoming harder to handle. You are always aware of his proximity to you. You are highly attentive of his long fingers and their accidental touches, his lanky legs leaning up against yours when you're seated next to each other. Your sleeping at night is interrupted by tossing and turning in your bed. Your mind filled with distractions, complexities and eroticisms.

**&**

You know that you two are baby-stepping, you decide to step it up a notch. One Saturday night, you are supposed to meet House at a new Thai restaurant that opened up in his neighborhood. This is not your plan. The last few days your body has been in heat, he's been standing way too close, hot Thai food will not help. You park near his home and ring him from your cell phone.

You tell him you got into his neighborhood early. Can you come by and you can both walk over together?

Not a problem for him. He's making this easy so far, you think to yourself. How long will that last?

He admits you to his townhouse. You don't spend a lot of time there. House is still getting ready. You tease him that he preens like a girl, even with all that scruff. You take notice of his attire, pleased by the button down and lack of shirt underneath, knowing this will work out perfect.

As you sit primly on the couch in your dress, you casually take in the surroundings. You are starting to lose your confidence, but start talking to yourself . . . that you're tired of this, you gotta move past it, now or never, or it will never work. Looking around, you take in the room, the golden walls, the books, the piano, and then you see it. A straight backed chair, perfect. You casually toss a throw pillow on it, and look away, still waiting for House. Little does he realize he won't be going out this evening.

When he enters into the living room, you are waiting for him. It's now or never.

"Take a seat," you point to the chair.

**&**

He looks at you quizzically as you take control of the room, quickly dimming lights and approaching him with hands on hips.

"What's going on?" he asks.

Nothing, you tell him. Maybe that's the problem, you question and lift an eyebrow trying to imbue a little humor.

You lean over him and you start to nuzzle his neck, your fingers start unbuttoning his shirt.

"Cameron, Cameron," he says, a slight octave lower, "maybe we should wait, or talk about this more."

No more talking you tell him, you fingers working faster down the shirt, because you feel his strong hands on your arms about to push you away.

"Cameron . . . " he says quietly, and you are surprised by his reluctance, "seriously, maybe we should talk more . . . "

You stop, you look at him strongly and deeply with desire, because he needs to see it in your eyes, and he needs to know it comes from you and it's pouring over like a geyser. No, you tell him. You don't want to talk to him, you just want to fuck him right now.

You know your words just startled him, because he still looks at you like a pristine little girl who would never say the words "fuck" or "cunt" or "cock" or "pussy." You know you have him and that he's aroused, and that finally, he'll put down this good boy act he's been playing with you for security and be himself for a bit, because you're almost certain he's been spanked before, even if he's never told you that (yet).

You pull his shirt back far enough to expose his chest and neck, but not enough to take it off, his arms are slightly bound now by that shirt and he can't touch you. He knows this and you smile at him. You kick your shoes off and stand in front of him, his back arching his chest out toward you in the chair. You crouch down a bit, with your hands on his knees lightly for balance, and start running your tongue up the length of his torso, sucking on his nipples, loving the taste and feel of his skin under your tongue.

When you are standing, you smile at him, and pull your dress over your head, revealing a lacy demi-cup bra that you are practically bursting out of and a pair of matching thong panties. You are wet with desire, normally you would fantasize about House controlling you and what he would do to you, but right now, you want him too badly.

You stand over his lap and lean down over him, letting your hair brush along his skin like feathers. You bend more toward him, your breasts brushing his skin. You run your mouth along his, in a breathy manner, never letting him reach you with his tongue, you teasing him. You suck on his neck and his earlobes, hear him moaning, his body responding with heat and groans. You crouch down, licking his chest again, and remove your bra, then running your hard nipples along his wet chest.

You are glad that you have taken pilates and have long, strong legs, because in order to distract him, you are essentially giving him a lap dance, you hear him breathing harder. You finally kiss him. Let your tongue run along his lips, let two tongues meet and taste. You have undone his buckle and have your hands around his cock, stroking him. He is hard, and he is moaning. You are wet, and you are about to break in a million pieces.

Parts of you want to free his arms so he can _touch_ you wherever you desire. Instead, you pull his cock more free from the confines of his pants and roll a condom onto it that you had hidden in your dress. Quickly you remove your panties, and lower yourself onto House. You watch him contort in deep pleasure as you control your muscles and movements, your wet walls contracting against his cock, both of you feeling the deep burn and pleasure. Before you realize it, you are in ecstasy. Your back arched, one hand on his shoulder, one hand in your own hair – you mentally try to control your breathing and screaming because you are the edge of shocks and of losing it. House is watching you intently, and leans forward and takes one of your nipples in his mouth and bites down, then swirls his tongue around it. You are fucking him hard, gliding up and down his cock quickly, squeezing him hard, you feel him tense up and know it's 'now' and you let go as well, finally breaking down, spilling your juices all over his lap.

You are sitting on his lap, naked and sweaty. You are both breathing hard. His head is rolled back. He lifts it and looks at you. You smile at him. He leans in and kisses you. You pull his button-down back up and around his shoulders, and he puts his arms around you, holding you on his lap.

"So, that's what you wanted to talk about," he smirks.

You smack him.

"So much for Thai food tonight. Wanna have breakfast tomorrow?"

After that, there were few nights and days spent alone. Most have been happy and have been filled with relatively normal couple stuff. This surprises you, but you are content, in fact, you're happy, at least for a while.

end part 1


	2. Cleaning Day

_Cleaning Day_

Allison Cameron crashed your world covering your mind and soul in her enchanting pixie dust. (You do not tell her this). You did not expect this (ever). Especially from such a small, soft creature against your thick and callused nature. You never ever expected such a piercing. This is stronger than before. It scares you. Often you try to run from it, hide from it or hurt it (do anything but hurt from it). And you know it's not her fault. You hate yourself for what you do.

You watch her from your glass surroundings, her slim shoulders straight and strong from your latest barbs. You refuse to be soft on her, you are often harder, you test her, you try to weaken her before she weakens you (more). She never complains. She never brings it home with her. You wonder why she comes with you at all sometimes.

She is an angel on your doorstep that you don't deserve. She shelters you at night. She has held you away from nightmares in your sleep, but now you have more fear in your awakened state. Your walls are different now. They have an automatic weapon defense system. She seems to have the blue prints for it and is able to get around land mines and torpedoes that you throw at her unscathed. You don't deserve her - especially after the last few months, hence the deeper hatred of yourself recently.

Stacey's reappearance into your life created a wake in your waters that you were not prepared for: it had always been a no wake zone. Having Cameron, though soothing, was keeping you on your toes. You have found yourself dealing with issues of anger, trust, closure and love that you have never dealt with in the past. Unknowingly, Cameron seems to understand all this with her quiet nods and unassuming presence. She knows you will do what you will do, because you always do everything on your own terms. It's what makes you a selfish bastard.

Stacey tempts more than just fate and you are wooed by memories of her. You are confused and feel conflicted by time, not about your feelings for Cameron, who you have wrongly pushed to the side. You feel stuck in a time warp. Allison is aware of some of your games, but not to their deepest extent. You know you are hurting her. You know she isn't aware of all your treachery, she trusts you and she understands (more than you) what you need to do and figure out. Hopefully you do. And hopefully she'll forgive you. She does.

You wish you could be more normal in your everyday life with her. That you weren't so quick to push her out of bed because of your paranoia. Because normally, you love waking up with her in your arms, her hair spread across your chest and pillows. You love the proximity of her in your apartment, the need you feel for her every time she is close to you - not just an animalistic need - but your need to reach out and touch and feel her – to swallow her whole - maybe it could finally make you whole.

**&**

You remember how scared you are when you first meet Allison Cameron. Small, beautiful, sincere and smart. You see something behind her eyes that you can't figure out, layers of scars like a long lived life, something you don't often see on a young woman her age. She becomes an enigma to you, something you don't understand, that you must figure out.

She thinks she's a game to you. That's part truth, part lie. The lie is the part you are hiding behind, because you are scared that you are more than just intrigued with her. Every time you talk with her you feel more connected, you feel that she 'gets' you, you feel like you 'fit together.' Horribly romantic things, you never thought would ever cross your mind, and you pretend that you don't really think these things.

She's not working for you long, when you really instigate the flirting. She, of course, calls you out on everything. And you lie, lie, lie. You have no feelings. You don't like her. You stomp all over her emotional being.

When she quits, she breaks you. You never thought you could break again this easily. You were stunned by her absence and realize that you _need_ her to be around. You keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself, but Wilson is constantly challenging you about your life and how you live it and how you feel. You hate him for putting ideas in you head - especially ones that you have been trying to forget and evade. He calls you out when he realizes Cameron has gotten to you.

You hate that she bribes you into a date and tells everyone about it. She broke what you considered a secret bond between you two. You make her pay for it over dinner. You are impressed by her strength as she can somehow sit with a straight back and a dry face for the remainder of the dinner. She is pleasant to you at work, yet remains distant. You hate yourself for what you have done.

You immediately start apologizing in your own way, moving slowly like a turtle across a street, knowing that you could be smashed at any moment, or survive to the other side. She doesn't talk to you anywhere except at the hospital for weeks. When she realizes what you are doing, she turns your game around on you. This just intrigues you more. You are still afraid, and glad to have your turtle shell with its unusual pointy spikes.

She brings constant surprise to your life. You quietly and secretly start enjoying yourself for the first time in years. She shocks you the first time you have sex together, when she comes over and pretty much tells you to stop talking and just assaults you. You liked it. No, you loved it. You keep your sunshine to yourself. You find yourself listening to Springsteen one day, and just because you live in Jersey, you refuse to yell out "the Boss lives" or crap like that, but somehow it just stumbled into your mind . . .

_So you've been broken and you've been hurt  
Show me somebody who ain't  
Yeah, I know I ain't nobody's bargain  
But, hell, a little touchup  
and a little paint . . . _

You might need somethin' to hold on to  
When all the answers, they don't amount to much  
Somebody that you could just to talk to  
And a little of that Human Touch

Baby, in a world without pity  
Do you think what I'm askin's too much  
I just want to feel you in my arms  
Share a little of that Human Touch  
Feel a little of that Human Touch  
Give me a little of that Human Touch

...and now you know you're pathetic. Now you're humming it in your mind all the time. But you're just feeling better. And you suck because you realize you too have a theme song. But you know that you're starting to have trouble hiding; and hiding your feelings that you usually keep hidden away somewhere safe.

Your favorite time to spend with Allison is Sunday mornings. For some reason, they're just more lazy. And you just like lazy. There is less rushing around, less errands, less of everything, and more time together. It's the time during the week where you can wake up before her and watch the sun stream over her sleeping form, kissing her face, her feet still reaching out to touch you. You like to try to get up to make coffee and breakfast for her. She makes enough coffee during the week. You should do something for her. Sometimes, while you're getting breakfast ready she'll go out for a quick run and pick up fresh blueberry muffins from the baker around the corner. Then you'll spend the rest of the day, snuggled together drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, talking and making love. These are your secrets (you don't want to share them with anyone).

You rarely go to her place anymore. She spends most of her time at your apartment. You have given her a spare key to get in, but she is not living here. She has a few items around the place: a toothbrush, some toiletries, a pair of pajamas, a book or two, and some clothes. Other than that, it remains your home one hundred percent. She hasn't asked, and you just don't know if you're ready for the moving-in part, although it's been almost a year. (You're a coward.)

After your crap with Stacey, things are a little strained. Not that you're surprised. Allison spends a weekend at her own apartment. You don't blame her really. You know she doesn't want to hear your garbage. She only wants to see and understand your actions. You realize how weak you are. You go see her Sunday, to take her to brunch, she's not there. Perhaps you should have called.

At work, you ask her into your office. (You despise that you can do this.) You ask her if she'll come over tonight.

She raises an eyebrow and looks at you, arms crossed in front of her in defense. "Oh, do you think you're ready to deal with me again?"

(Ouch). You can't respond to her. You hope your eyes are telling her something.

They are. She sighs and drops her posture. "Fine, I'll stop by. But I'm not staying."

She stays. It's not that she doesn't have a backbone (she's stronger than you), but you both missed each other more than you are willing to admit. You spend time fighting, there are hot tears, and lots of make-up sex, more talking in bed, and more hot tears and more fighting. In the end, there is just holding and caressing. She tells you it's not over yet. You're not sure what she means; you're hoping you'll figure it out soon, but you've often been dense about these things.

You told her the truth. She didn't like it, but she was glad about your honesty (and shocked by it). You are ashamed of yourself when you watch her face drop when you tell her that you and Stacey kissed, when you explain you wanted to be certain that spark was out of your heart and being. You tell her you needed (for her to understand) to let go of your anger about your leg and your heart. You needed to be sure Stacey was really out of your heart, because it ended in such a bad way you were never really sure. Because you had shared a special relationship with Stacey, you'll always care for her, and you are sure Allison, being Allison, will understand that. What you needed to understand was that the relationship ended before its time, it's just the leg got in the way. Old scar tissue causing more pain, taking away from your new focus: Allison.

You two stayed up all night. You went to work late. You gave her the day off. She needed it. And even though it mixes business and pleasure, you owe it to her for the emotional rollercoaster you put her on. You are beginning to see how she shelters you, how loved you are.

It was a good thing you got so little sleep and looked like crap the next day, because on the inside you were glowing. You really didn't want the whole hospital gossiping that you were 'aglow' and 'did everyone see Dr. House smile today?' crap going around. Hell would break loose. Besides, you are still struggling with admitting to yourself that you _might_ be falling in love too.

**&**

It's getting warm out, starting to feel like summer. You start alternating between taking the Corvette and taking the bike. Either way, you feel the sun on your face, you wear your sunglasses, you feel the breeze in your hair and you feel cool. It makes you feel young again too. The days are getting longer, and because the day has been quiet, when you leave work today the sun is still out.

You are looking forward to going home. You know Cameron will be there. You are starting to tire of this hiding game at work that you two are playing. Though when you are bored, you have taken to having fantasies about places you two could go have sex without getting caught. Your list is getting quite long. You're thinking now, with the weather getting very hot, the roof might become real appealing soon. Or it could really annoy Cuddy if someone left empty condom packets in her office.

You open the front door and expect to be greeted by the smell of food cooking. No food. Cameron?

"In the bedroom!"

Alright! You think to yourself. You ditch your shoes and your bag at the door, and start to unbutton your shirt as you walk down the hall.

You enter the bedroom expecting to find a scantily clad Allison sprawled on the bed. You are highly disappointed. Instead, you find Allison in her sweats on top of the bed with the local paper. "Hi," she says and gets up and gives you a quick peck on the mouth.

You ask her what she's doing, as you lie on the bed next to her, putting your head on the pillow next to her and your hand on her belly.

"Just looking at some vacation info."

Vacation info? What for?

"I was thinking maybe we could take a vacation?"

Take a vacation?

"Yes, a vacation. A break."

No, no vacation. You're rubbing her belly a bit, maybe it will put her in the mood, or even a better mood.

"What do you mean _no_ vacation?"

You tell her you don't do vacation.

She looks at you like you have eight heads. "Are you kidding me? Since when?"

Ever.

"You're a liar."

You tell her you don't lie.

She pulls away from your hand and sits up a bit, she laughing a bit. "You know, I think I came across a photo album once in this place of you and Stacey in St. Thomas. _That_ looked like vacation to me!"

Was she snooping through your things?

"No! In fact, I mentioned it to you when I found it because I was shocked you that had _any_ photos around here. You flippantly said, oh yeah, some old photos I keep meaning to throw in the fireplace. But you had some family in there you wanted to keep, so you asked me to put it back on the shelf."

Well, impatiently, you tell her you don't go on vacation any more. You don't take time off.

"Oh, so it was okay when it was Stacey?" (Now you can tell she's annoyed.)

Hey, that's not fair, and that's not what it's about, you tell her, trying not to bring up the obvious. Though, you wonder if Stacey is part of the problem . . . still.

"You know, maybe Stacey is _still_ the problem!" She almost shrieks at you. "There are remnants of her everywhere still. In your closet, in your medicine cabinet, on your body, in your mind. We can't even take a goddamn vacation without the memory of her sprinkled in somewhere, tainting it. Do you have a life yet without her?"

You ask Cameron what in God's name is she talking about. You thought she just wanted some days off!

"Well, Greg," she begins, "_I_ am in desperate need of some vacation time and I plan on taking some. I plan on getting away and relaxing a bit."

So, go ahead you tell her.

"Fine, I will," she tells you, as she marches off to the bathroom and slams the door.

You eat a very quiet dinner that night. You're annoyed. You wanted some 'special' time with Cameron tonight. You didn't want to think about going on vacation. Or Stacey. You hate other people, you hate traveling, and now your current girlfriend is comparing what you did with your previous girlfriend. Fucking great.

**&**

The next two weeks, the subject doesn't come up again. Cameron is distant, forcing her smiles. You hate it. She's spending more time at her apartment. You hate going there. One night, you submit and spend the night there. You can barely sleep that night and are a bigger bastard than normal the next day. You blame it on her.

A week letter, she hands you a form. You ask her what it is.

"A vacation request form."

You tell her it's denied.

"You didn't even look at it."

You tell her you don't have to, you're not granting it.

She starts boiling, her face is all red. She picks the form off the desk. "You have no right to deny my vacations days. I am owed four weeks, I am planning on taking two whether you like it or not."

Oh really?

"Yes, really," she smirks back at you. "Funny thing about HR is, I don't have to give you my vacation request form for approval. I can go directly through the Dean of Medicines, who I CC'd on this, and is receiving it as we speak. I don't think she'll be denying it. I thought I would discuss this with you first, you know, just as a courtesy."

You laugh. That is funny, you tell her.

"And the other funny thing is . . . you wanna know?" she asks.

You nod in anticipation.

"I can take my vacation right away, I don't have to give more than a day's notice if no one else in our department is on vacation at the time!" She smiles big and large at you.

You know she's going to drop something on you, and you know you're not going to like it.

"So, I'll be taking two weeks vacation starting Monday."

You tell her you want to talk to Cuddy first.

She tells you to call her. And winks to you. She tells you that your phone call will be a big 'alert' call to her.

You are furious at Allison. You ask her why she is doing this.

She puts her hands on your desk and leans forward toward you, speaking in a clipped manner. "Because I'm tired of living in a shell. I'm tired of playing these games. I never asked you for anything, I've never asked you to change or be someone you're not, but I need a little normalcy. I can't hide anymore. If you can't deal with that, then you can't."

She stands straight again. "And then, we'll see. We'll see if this relationship means a thing to you."

She looks at the clock, looks at the conference room, looks at you. "Oh, well, it's five o'clock. I've got to finish packing so I can get the hell out of dodge." She pauses. "I love you. I'll leave you a note where I'll be."

She walks out the door into the conference room. She doesn't close the door between the two rooms. Chase and Foreman are sitting at the table.

"Hey guys, I'm on vacation starting Monday for the next two weeks."

They look up at her with sudden surprise.

As she quickly packing her bag and heading out the door, she throws them another surprise. "Oh, and yeah, House and I have been seeing each other, and have been for quite some time. If either of you have a problem with that, see Cuddy. I think you can see that he's equally hard, if not harder, on me. Bye. See you in two weeks."

**&**

When you get home that night, you find on your kitchen table a map, directions and a letter. She tells you she rented a cottage down the Jersey shore for two weeks. If you want to reach her, you have her cell phone. If you want to come by, you have the directions. The ball is in your court. It's your mess to clean up now.

end part 2


	3. Salt Water and Wounds

_Salt Water and Wounds_

As soon as you open your car door, you can smell the sea air. You begin to feel the knitted balls of stress in your shoulders start to unknot themselves as soon as you smell the salty ocean breeze. You feel the mixture of sun and salt coat your shoulders. The aroma and hazy mist attack your senses and sooth your body and soul immediately. It's better than going to the spa for the day. Your toes are itching to feel sand between them, to feel the pressure of your feet relieved as you tread along hot patches of sandy mounds.

You are familiar with this small Jersey shore town. A quaint coastal town with old Victorian Houses and an old fashioned Main Street. You spent many summers here with your grandmother. You drove past her old house, and were haunted by old memories of rocking chairs, cards and iced-tea on the porch. The house seems so different to you now, wildflowers gracing the front lawn, geraniums hanging on the porch, but your memories are hidden away in the attic. You felt a flush of remembrance as you drove through town to your rented cottage.

You are quick to empty your car, change into your bathing suit, grab a chair and head for the boardwalk. You feel almost feel like a girl again, the cares of your world slipping away as you reach the wooded planks and hear the crashing of the water on the shores. You need nothing but your beach pass, your hat, sunglasses, sunscreen, book, the shorts you're wearing, towel and the chair you're carrying. It almost all fits in your pockets.

You dig your chair into the sand and plop down. You don't read the book; you look around and try to remember everything. And try to forget at the same time. You walk down to the crashing waves, feeling like that little girl facing the big world for the first time. The waves are crashing, foam running up around your ankles. You know that you are small in the universe, that your problems and scars are small comparatively. The ocean reminds you of this. It reminds you that you will survive and that you are strong, no matter what it swallows and no matter what it gives.

**&**

When you were sixteen, you met Dan. He had been throwing around a Nerf ball with some friends when it landed on your towel and roused you. He was tall, tan, blond, good looking and had a sweet nature to boot. He invited you to come over and join a larger group. You had been getting lonely, you figured why not. You learned that you and Dan were "Bennies" or not locals. Dan was from Princeton. His parents were teachers, who owned a purple house on the other side of town. The two of you clicked immediately.

It was nice to have some kids your age to hang out with; even if it was just on the boardwalk with skateboards, dirt bikes and ice cream. There wasn't much else to do. Some of the town kids had jobs; you and Dan were both there to help your families out, you for your grandmother, he his parents with the renovation of their house.

You liked his sweet nature, his calm and gentle demeanor. He taught you how to skim on the water. You taught him how to float. You can be quiet together. One night he walked across town in the rain to see if you wanted to go to the movies, but your grandmother said no. You hated her that night. She knew you were angry.

The next night after dinner, she lets the two of you go out for ice cream. You took a walk under the pier, the cool sand refreshing your toes. You sat in the damp sand and finished your ice cream, talked about everything and nothing. He told you about his mom and that she drinks too much and he's embarrassed by it. You knew it hurt him to admit, but for some reason he just needed to tell someone. You didn't know what to say, so you reached over and squeezed his hand.

You sat like that for a while, letting the moment pass, because you were not mature enough to handle it. Dan reached over and kissed you. You don't stop him because it felt sumptuous, and you were curious. He leaned you back into the sand and asked you if this was okay, you nodded your head in approval. You were nervous because no one had ever touched you like this before, but you were excited and getting wet at the same time. You think this was new to Dan too, because he seemed to fumble with his hands a bit, like he was exploring a new map, one he had never seen. The feel of his fingers over your pubic hair for the first time was rough and tantalizing at the same time. You started arching your back to him, you're not sure what you or your body wanted or needed. In that moment before no return, you saw police lights on the beach. You tidy your clothes up and head home, flushed by the thrill.

Next summer, he's taller and stronger and built more like a man. His parents are still renovating their house. You've had a busy year and had many boyfriends. Your friendship clicks right back to where it once was. You never talk about the night you fooled around. It's a hidden memory, like a dusty old letter hidden away in an attic trunk never to be found, a secret between the two of you. 

At the end of the summer, right before you're both supposed to leave and go back home, you both get drunk. You take a walk to the beach and look at the stars in the sky and listen to the surf pound on the beach. You talk about your dreams for the future; you talk about how much you love the beach, how much you love life. You do something stupid. You take a walk down to the beach and climb the jetty rocks, all black, wet and slippery, with seaweed strewn against the surfaces. Somehow, you had gotten into your heads that you would find starfish as souvenirs. You slip and cut the bottom of your foot and get a deep slice right under your arm pit. Dan is helping you get up, you are laughing hysterically, when he falls and hits his head. 

You had never had stitches before. You had never worn a black dress before. You had never been to a funeral before. You stopped believing in a higher being. These were your wounds.

**&**

_You are angry. You are angry that she left. You are angry that she left things like this. Like such a mess. You sit looking around your apartment, when you start hearing history echoing to you. The walls are talking. They are closing in on you. You hate her because she is right. You love her because she is right. You hate yourself, because you are afraid of facing it. You look around you apartment and realize that Cameron is nowhere. You go to the bedroom, and grab her pillow and inhale her scent. No wonder, she's angry, you are treating her little better than a whore right now. You are an asshole. Wilson is right. You don't deserve her. She just gave you a wake up call._

**&**

You are lying on the wicker chaise with your coffee and a book in the morning sun, when you hear a familiar roar of engine pull up in front of the cottage. Hmm, you raise an eyebrow to yourself, you are impressed. It's only midweek. You certainly didn't expect him to fold this soon.

You hear him approach and climb the three steps of your porch. You lay your book across your chest and look at him. Secretly, you are thrilled to see him; you are restraining yourself in your chair. He sits in the chair next to you. You look at him, using your hand to shield the sun from your eyes (as well as your surprise).

"Hi." He says cautiously. "Nice place."

Thanks. You ask him what he's doing here. (You wondering how close to the truth he'll get at the first try.)

"Well, I heard there was this really cool classic car show here this weekend, so I thought I would come check it out."

It's only Wednesday.

"Well, I wanted to miss the weekend traffic, you know me and my leg and all that traffic. It just wouldn't be a happy mix." He shrugs at you in his Housian style. You can't help but smile a little at him. (You wish you could stop yourself.)

So, you decided to come.

"Couldn't you offer me some coffee first?"

You smile. He has to be coaxed into almost any conversation that might pierce his skin. You get up to back inside to get him coffee. As you walk past him, he reaches out and brushes your fingers. You feel that jolt of energy from him. You slow yourself and look at him. He doesn't look at you. You go fetch that coffee.

You return to the porch and hand him a mug. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him, even just briefly on the shoulder or head. You miss him deeply. You know that things are a mess. You how big of deal it is for him to be here right now. You have to accept that as admission, as House giving more than he can normally give, without verbalizing it. You recognize that you should demand more after all he has put you through, but he is not your typical guy and you believe if and when he loves, he loves much deeper.

So, he decided to take some vacation?

"Hmm, something like that." He pauses and looks at you. "I threw a little fit after you left, and Wilson told Cuddy we were dating, after it basically spread about the hospital, thank you, Doctor Chase. Wilson and Cuddy were tired of dealing with me, so they forced me to."

Ah. So they're throwing him to you?

"Not really. They don't know I'm here."

Is he going to be in a better mood?

"I think so."

**&**

_You walk with her up to the boardwalk. You still don't know what possessed you to pack up your car and drive out here on a lark. You missed her horribly; you felt like a mad man, you were going out of your skin. If Cuddy and Wilson hadn't forced you on the vacation, you were just about to take it. (You don't tell them this, you like having your secrets.)_

You feel like a fish out of water. You swore you would never go to the beach again or put shorts on. Cameron convinces you that a pair of cargo pants rolled partially up your legs will serve sufficiently as shorts, though you are despising your pale legs that haven't seen the sun in years. She fawns over your arms in a t-shirt and that gives you a bit more confidence as you slip your sunglasses on.

You sit on a bench on the pier looking out at the expanse of the ocean. The warm sun feels good on your face, your skin that is usually on in a temperature regulated building. Everything is calm. There are men fishing off the pier, people strolling on the boardwalk, quiet groups on the sand, birds cooing around looking for food. You are surprised by the serenity. There is no crazy mayhem on the boardwalk, no fried food smells, no loud ringing noises and no arcade games. (Wait. NO arcade games?). 

You ask Cameron what brought her to this place, especially because you never expected to find an Atheist in a coastal shore town that was created for religious retreat originally. (You did your homework.)

She smiles at you and begins to tell you about her summers down here. She tells you long stories about her grandmother and their time together. How she taught her to cook and play cards. (Aha, so that's how she learned how to make such great chicken cutlets and kick your ass in poker!) And then she tells you about Dan. And the pier and jetty rocks below.

You never noticed those scars on her.

She smiles at you. "Some scars heal better than others. Some scars aren't on the skin. Besides, my grandma always told me that the salt water always helped heal wounds."

You take the flip-flop off her foot and run your finger along a tiny faded scar. You would have never noticed it if she hadn't told you about it before. You lift her arm to look at the slice she told you about below her arm-pit (another place you never thought to look) and see a four-inch scar, not as nicely healed as her foot. You put her arm down and kiss her shoulder, noting the tiny freckles mixed in with her tan, and the smell of coconuts permeating from her.

She never went back into the ocean after Dan's accident, did she?

"No," she shakes her head. "I never went back in. Just ankle deep. I was thinking I might give it a try during this vacation. There are some things I need to let go of too."

You take her hand and put it in yours. You forget sometimes that you're not the only one with a story, with a history, with old scars, with things that need to be let go of. Seeing this in Allison's eyes was one of the things that drew you to her. You see how in ways she is like you, afraid of losing more (she has lost so many people already), and daring you to cut it first. You two keep playing this game, this pull and tug. You realize you need to stop. You keep coming back to each other.

You do something you don't normally do, especially in public. You put your arm around her shoulders and pull her towards your body. This is why you sped here.

You go for a drive in the Corvette, enjoying the summer night sky. In a nearby town, Allison treats you to all the fried food found on boardwalk that you could possibly want. You're in heaven. She laughs at you, as she reaches over to brush powdered sugar off your shirt. Now, you really feel like an overgrown child as you ride the Ferris wheel and the Bumper Cars, and play all the games in the arcade. This is_ turning into the best vacation you have ever been on. No lie._

When you get back to cottage it is late, and you are coming off your sugar high. However, you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and feel Allison's body in your arms. You just want to touch her, feel her skin, smell her hair, and taste her mouth. It's easy for you to get lost in her. Sometimes sex is fast and furious; sometimes it is teasing and tantalizing, sometimes a game. Tonight it is none of those things. It is rediscovery, as you let your fingers travel over every part of her body, feeling every muscle, every tendon, searching for any scar or wound that you don't know about yet. You want to soothe her. It is slow, as you take Cameron in your arms, trying to kiss away all her fears and doubts about you, all her stress, all her anger, everything. This night is about her. Your mouth slowly caressing her body, she is hanging gently in your arms. You never let her go. You look into her eyes, and you know that looking at her you are also seeing yourself, and you've never been this emotional with her. She is pleading with you, urging you on. You move slowly in her, rocking her, your arms behind her back bringing her head toward you so you can kiss her deeply and see her eyes. Your slow buildup has brought a deliberate ache and a long, burning release, that leaves you tangled together in each other's limbs until the sun rises.

**&**

You wake in the morning to the sound of seagulls, sunshine and a note on the other pillow. House writes that he went to run some errands and pick up some crumb buns, he'll be right back. You wake like a cat, arching and stretching. You wish he was here, but you know he's coming back.

You decide to take your morning run. You run past Dan's parents purple house. The paint is fresh. And there is a sign in front saying they won something in the town's historical society for renovation. You think that they always put that house first. You know you need to stop blaming yourself for that accident. That it was an accident. Dan would not want you to be doing this to yourself. You are sure of this.

You return to the cottage and House is sitting on the porch with coffee and a bag of crumb buns. He pulls you onto his lap and kisses you. Then he wrinkles his nose to tell you that you're stinky and to get in the shower.

After you're clad in your bathing suit, you exit onto to the porch for your coffee and morning goodie. You are surprised to see House packing for the beach. You see he went shopping.

"Yes, I figured, I would keep you company on the beach today."

Okay, you shake your head, amazed at his purchases. You nibble at your bun and examine his goods. He bought a fancy beach chair with wheels on it, the kind that gets pulled with all your items on it, no need to carry it. There is an umbrella and a boogie board? You look at confused, you are sure your face is all twisted. You see he has long swim trunks on. You shake you're head, he's really trying.

You find a nice place on the sand to plant the umbrella. You know today you will try to go in the water, but you need to get nice and hot first in the morning sun. You pull out your book and snuggle into your chair. You watch House pull out a newspaper. You sigh. The hardest thing to read on a beach, he'll have to learn. He always likes things the hard way you think.

Then you note what he's reading. The Real Estate section?

"I know you want to ask, so just ask," he says from behind the paper.

What is he reading? And why.

He puts the paper and his lap and looks at you. "What do you think? Shall we repaint the apartment? Any idea about colors? And try to make a whole new place? Or should I just sell it and we can buy a new place?"

We? A new place?

"Yes, I said _we_."

You look at him nervously.

"So? What do you think?"

You think a new place. You smile at him. (You really want to get up and knock him on his back and into the sand like a big Labrador.)

"That's what I thought." He picks up the paper and keeps reading.

In the late morning sun, you're lying on the blanket reading your book when House lowers himself down next to you. You look at him. He quickly pecks you on the mouth and looks around.

"So is it okay?"

Is what okay?

"Buying a new place thing?"

Yup. (You love that this is his way of discussing things).

"Great. We'll start looking when we get back."

He sits up and grabs something out of his backpack. He puts his hand on your back. "Want to go in the water?" He gives you the puppy dog eyes. "I can't go in without you."

Okay, you nod. (You're nervous. You can do this.)

You sit up, and House really catches you off guard. He stops a man walking by, "Hey buddy, can you take a picture of me and my girlfriend?"

"Sure thing."

And he hands the man a disposable camera. He asks the guy to take two or three shots. You think he saw the shock register on your face when he pulled out a camera.

He uses his Boogy Board instead of his cane, but you help each other walk to and approach the shoreline. You help each other get past the breaking point, past the crashing waves, past the sea foam: you holding the Boogy Board tight and he being the strength for your fear. The water is cool and salty on your warm skin. You try to adjust to the feeling of being in the water, of not being able to touch the ground. House is holding onto to his board, resting his torso on it. You are treading water a little frantically, when he comes closer to you. And it's just his closeness, his proximity that comforts you. And then you find a calm place where you can float peacefully for a while among the waves in the ocean.

end part 3

fin


End file.
